Eames
by dabbling
Summary: Bobby's thoughts during a sleepless night.


Eames

Bobby Goren was up again in the wee hours. It happened often, the result of years of odd hours on the job; overnight stake-outs, military watches, or maybe some degree of mental illness. The jury was still out on that, as far as he was concerned.

Tonight he'd given up on trying to sleep and sat at the kitchen table in his boxers, cleaning his handgun. His thoughts rambled aimlessly while he worked, something not uncommon to these sleepless nights.

First he thought of his mother. The last time he'd seen her, she really seemed okay. She had been genuinely happy to see him, and interested in what he'd been doing. She hadn't compared him to his brother at all…

Well, to her delusion of what his brother was. She had no idea what kind of life Frank lived, and Bobby knew it would only hurt her to know. He smirked, thinking how funny it was that even in the purest of relationships, there could so easily lurk a lie. He would not have thought himself capable of lying to his mother on a regular basis, but there it was, one of many that seemed to be necessary in order to spare her pain.

He spread out his cleaning cloth, refolded it, and began working it again on the cold steel in front of him. He wondered how many other people he loved that he would find himself lying to in his lifetime.

This thought led him to his partner, Alex Eames. Partner, and friend. His thoughts of her were always accompanied by a strong sense of… what? He wasn't sure what to call it. Trust, certainly… love, perhaps… protectiveness, definitely… Eames' relationship with him was more complicated than any other.

She would take a bullet for him, he knew that, as he would for her. That in itself demonstrated the intensity of their feelings for each other. He couldn't say for sure if that was love. In the military, soldiers say they are "brothers." A kind of love, but he knew he didn't love Eames like a sister.

Bobby tugged at the corner of his boxers and shifted position. He finished what he was working on and then went to the bathroom to take a leak.

The longer he worked with her, the more she turned him on. He hoped it didn't show at work; took pains to keep it from showing, actually. But she did it all day long. Sometimes it was her scrutiny of the facts in a case. Bobby had dated a lot of women, and nerdy as it was, he knew that nothing was as sexy as an intelligent woman.

Sometimes Eames surprised him with something as simple as a flip of her hair, or the little curl of her lips when she had just given him crap about something. She didn't smile enough, he thought. She was a genuinely happy person, but she just didn't show that beautiful smile often enough. Most of her snarky remarks were accompanied by a frown. He pondered for a moment where she picked up that habit and decided it must have been a coping mechanism for working in a predominantly male subculture.

Bobby wandered back to his bed and stretched out on his back. All these thoughts of Eames weren't doing anything to help him get to sleep. In fact, they had just the opposite effect. He thrashed around a few minutes, fiddling with the sheets. He finally managed to get the top sheet smoothed overtop him.

Yesterday, she dropped a pen on the floor, and, oh! He'd averted his eyes, but not until after he mentally catalogued every aspect of her curves.

Bobby sighed and turned to one side. She didn't feel this way about him. He knew that for sure. If she did, there would be more contact between them. More calls, more visits off the clock… she definitely didn't feel this way about him.

But he felt this way and didn't call her; didn't visit. He thought for a moment, feeling a sprig of hope rise in his chest like a seedling looking for the sun. Bobby fought back the hopeful feelings. Hope was dangerous. Hope got people hurt.

He could continue on, knowing there was one person in the world who cared about him (romantic or not) and whom he cared about. That was all right. It was safe. It was some kind of love, more than he ever expected himself to have.

Finally, his thoughts subsided and he slept. He numbed his feelings in the routine of his mornings: shower, dress, paper, coffee, breakfast. He caught the train to work and walked into the building with purpose. He almost didn't catch the elevator on time, stuck his hand in to force the doors back open.

She was in the back of the car. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. He joined her and stood beside her happily. "Good morning, Eames," he said, tilting his head slightly.

"Hey, Bobby," she replied with that little curl in her lips.

THE END


End file.
